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EVERYTHING HURT.
Iona knew pain. She'd been hurt too many times to count, had broken nearly every bone in her body, and was littered in scars from head to toe. Still, this pain had to be the worst pain she'd ever experienced in her life.
She had difficulty breathing, sitting up- which, in her current state, bound by chains to someone beside her, was impossible either way- and she was seeing stars every time she opened her eyes still.
At first, outside the gate, the pain had been numbed down. She hadn't even noticed the bullet until a shockwave hit her, paralyzing her until all she could do was notice the wound seeping blood.
Now, she truly felt it.
It burned, ached, left her breathless- every bad symptom in the book. Not only that, but because of the placement (her lower abdomen), every movement seemed to agitate the wound and had her groaning in protest.
Stretching hurt, applying pressure hurt, and contorting her stomach in any way hurt.
All in all, Iona's point stands: everything hurts.
"Fuck," Iona grumbled, groaning in pain as she wiped at her eyes. The sunlight from outside was blaring through the barred window, straight into her eyes. "I feel like death."
"Smell like it, too," Lincoln snickered from beside her.
Shielding her eyes, she opened one of them to stare up at Lincoln. He was sat beside her, leaned over her body as she rested on the floor, and held up his arm. In turn, her arm flew up and he shook their hands.
They were chained together.
"Oh, lovely."
Lincoln shrugged. Resting his arm back down, he sat against the wall, staring forward at the bars guarded by several men. He sighed quietly, clearly bored, before glancing back at Iona, who was still struggling to gather her bearings.
"You're lucky you weren't executed on the spot," Lincoln chuckles as she groans out a sarcastic oh, yeah, I'm just full of luck. "Bellamy fought for you. Pike wanted to kill you, even after his favorite little soldier boy stuck up for you."
Iona hummed, grabbing onto Lincoln's arm and attempting to hoist herself into a sitting position. It hurt like hell, but with his help, she was able to get into a comfortable spot for the both of them.
Then, Iona furrowed her brows. "Favorite little solider boy? What's that supposed to mean?"
Lincoln faltered.
Here she was, eager to murder Pike for killing the camp of people beyond Arkadia's walls- but she didn't even know the half of it. That was very characteristic of Iona, though, and he shook his head.
She always ran headfirst into the battle without even having all of the gruesome, though realistic truths that shifted- or sometimes caused the fight.
Lincoln didn't know if he should tell her, though. Considering they'd slowly been becoming friends again, he was afraid of both telling her and keeping it a secret. He wasn't sure what to do, or how to reply.
If he tells her that Bellamy played a massive part in Pike's tyranny, then it just might shatter her heart into pieces.
If he withholds the information from her, then Iona might rashly take it out on him when she eventually found out- which she would- because that's just how she worked. If that happened, their chances of ever restoring their friendship would be down the drain.
Really, neither option seemed fruitful for the man.
Lincoln sighed, rubbing his temples and pulling Iona's hand near his face in the process, making her huff. "I'll tell you later. Now probably isn't the best time," He said, narrowing his eyes as Bellamy hurriedly approached the bars.
Iona was in no condition to rise and greet him, but the look on her face made Lincoln's decision even more difficult.
Her face practically lit up when she saw him, and it was like fireworks had been exploded in those dark eyes of hers. She smiled- brightly, too- as soon as she saw him, and clutched at her stomach, trying to mask the pain her excitement caused.
"Bells!" She exclaimed, though it was quiet and lacking her typical energy. "I'm glad you're okay."
Bellamy sent her a relieved but still guilty smile before glancing over at Lincoln. The man stoically leaned his head back, glancing at the woman beside him before his eyes met Bellamy's again, but this time full of fire.
Swallowing, Bellamy looked down at his hands as he toyed with the bars between them.
He should tell her.
He should've told her.
But he didn't.
Lincoln didn't tell her. He left that responsibility to Bellamy himself, and something about it unnerved him. He knew he brought this upon himself. He knew he caused the burden of responsibility and would have to carry it, but he also knew what that burden entailed.
Bellamy would, at one point, have to break Iona's heart.
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